"We all grow up with the weight of history on us. Our ancestors dwell in the attics of our brains as they do in the spiraling chains of knowledge hidden in every cell of our bodies." ~Shirley Abbott~

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

The Mask I Wear

Don't be fooled by me. Don't be fooled by the face I wear For I wear a mask. I wear a thousand masks- masks that I'm afraid to take off and none of them are me. Pretending is an art that's second nature with me But don't be fooled, for God's sake, don't be fooled. I give you the impression that I'm secure That all is sunny and unruffled with me within as well as without, that confidence is my name and coolness my game, that the water's calm and I'm in command, and that I need no one. But don't believe me. Please!

My surface may be smooth but my surface is my mask, My ever-varying and ever-concealing mask. Beneath lies no smugness, no complacence. Beneath dwells the real me in confusion, in fear, in aloneness. But I hide this. I don't want anybody to know it. I panic at the thought of my weaknesses and fear exposing them. That's why I frantically create my masks to hide behind.

But I don't tell you this. I don't dare. I'm afraid to. I'm afraid you'll think less of me, that you'll laugh and your laugh would kill me. I'm afraid that deep-down I'm nothing, that I'm just no good and you will see this and reject me.

I idly chatter to you in suave tones of surface talk. I tell you everything that's nothing and nothing of what's everything, of what's crying within me. So when I'm going through my routine do not be fooled by what I'm saying Please listen carefully and try to hear what I'm not saying Hear what I'd like to say but what I can not say.

It will not be easy for you, long felt inadequacies make my defenses strong. The nearer you approach me the blinder I may strike back. Despite what books say of men, I am irrational; I fight against the very thing that I cry out for. you wonder who I am you shouldn't for I am everyman and everywoman who wears a mask. Don't be fooled by me. At least not by the face I wear. --Author unknown

I've thought of this poem from time to time for the last 32 years. How could I ever forget when and where I first saw it?

It felt very strange to be behind doubled locked doors. Walls stark and bare. Doors echoed throughout the hallways as they opened and closed. There was a feeling of dread as keys turned to lock you in. I was at our state mental hospital. No, I was not a patient there--although I could of been or might yet could be--who knows? Right? I was in nursing school and was doing my first day of clinicals on the psychiatric rotation.

Hanging out in the patients lounge and nervously trying to take in all that I was seeing and hearing from the mentally wounded--I saw it hanging there on the bulletin board.

It was wrinkled, crumpled and handwritten, in pencil--apparently posted by one of the patients. It explained so much and brought tears to my eyes as I read it.

I thought of this poem last night and just taking a shot in the dark-- keyed the words "the mask I wear" into my google search space. One click and there it was.

Touching and so sad for many who live behind masks. The saddest part of all is that the real is usually loveable, desireable and beautiful. I delight in knowing REAL people and find the best way to find them is to be the real me, for better or worse.

HI DEBRA,that poem can touch so many, and I know you know so well, the mentally ill, they are who they are, but sometimes I am sure they really are someone else trapped in that body or mind.GOD BLESS you for the work you do.HUGS to you,jamie

Hi Debra...thank you for stopping by my Blog.My daughter was a veterinary nurse for years but is back in School to become an RN. She now works at the same Psychiatric Hospital as Pat's daughter.The poem is so fitting...some of the stories that I hear just break my heart.